Tied
by Mrs Don Draper
Summary: Silva ties up bond and blows him but doesn't let him come until he's whimpering shaking and a mess. *Rape/Non-Con*


When Bond comes to, he first notices the harsh rub of rope across his naked body. It twists around his neck several times, over his shoulders and locking his hands behind his back. It keeps his legs spread with his ankles tied to the ends of the bed he's lying on. There's a moment where he begins to panic, but catches himself when he realizes that he hasn't been gagged or blindfolded. He can breathe. He can't move, but he can breathe. He sighs. At least it's something. His head throbs painfully.

"Ahhh, you are awake! Excellent. I was worried the dosage was too much. You were asleep for much longer than I had intended. Mommy would not be very happy if I had to send your corpse back to MI6 all because of my silly mistake. Hmmm. Luckily that is not the case!"

Bond's vision is still fuzzy from whatever Silva had doped him with, and his brain is working at half time. Where was he being kept?

"Will you behave yourself if I untie your hands? That position must be putting quite the strain on your shoulder."

It really was. Fuck it, if he had his hands free, there was no way he was going to let Silva get away without even attempting a fight. He opts to remain silent.

Silva sighs.

"Don't be obstinate, James. It's unbecoming of you," Silva scolds before untying his hands anyway.

His hands linger on his hips for far too long.

He tries to sit up, but there's a convenient rope around his waist as well and that's the end of that. Silva chuckles.

"So much fire in you! You didn't really think I would let you go so easily, did you? You haven't even been witness to my iconsummate/i hospitality."

James really does not like the way Silva put such emphasis behind the word "consummate." So that was what the man wanted. Or at least, his body was a contributing factor. Wonderful.

"Nothing to say?"

Silence.

"Ahhh, very well."

Silva walks away from his looming position over Bond's head until he is Bond's blind spot and finally takes up a place at the foot of the bed he's tied to. He strains his neck to see him standing between his spread thighs with a bulge forming quickly.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Silva braces his hands against his thighs to lean over James' torso to look him right in the eye as he resumes speaking to him.

"I'm going to tear you apart, James. Crack you open and see what's inside. Scream as loudly as you please. No one will hear you. It's going to be beautiful, James. I imagine you will cry so prettily, begging me for release. How does that sound, my darling?"

"Fucking bastard," Bond bites.

Silva laughs again and pulls back from his thighs.

"This is it," Bond thinks. "This is actually happening. What would M say?"

Silva gracefully drops to his knees, which Bond sees as a fate worse than simply being out-and-out fucked. Now he was going to be forced to enjoy it. There would be no chance to shut off, shut down, and tune out. No, Silva was going to bring everything front and center. And he can't even see him from his restricted spot on the bed.

A wet sucking sound that had nothing to do with Silva fellating him breaks the silence of the room. Jesus, what was ithat/i?

But there's no more time for thinking because he is suddenly wholly enveloped in Silva's mouth. But it feels off, wrong. His cock meets no resistance from jaw or palate. His cheek stretches out much farther than it should, which worries him greatly. His brain tries to make sense of what is going on, but he can come up with no viable answer. His mouth and throat is like an open, wet cavern. It feels bottomless. As if he could keep going down inside him forever. And even though his entire length is inside Silva's mouth, a rough tongue somehow manages to slip out and lick his bollocks. He grunts loudly and is glad that M isn't here to hear him responding so shamefully.

Silva takes him in so deeply that his forehead rests against the taut planes of his abdomen. He holds him there and holds him there until he can't help but squirm, either to get him off or to get him to finish what he's started. Anything but this torturous limbo.

"Don't," James grunts. "iDon't/i."

Silva pulls off of him in a slow slide. With his mouth free, he takes James' cock in hand and pumps him at a maddening pace. He teases his head with firm presses of his thumb and tightly squeezes his shaft on each upstroke. James fights not to say anymore. He bites his cheek until he tastes his own blood on his tongue from chomping at the tender flesh.

"Enjoying yourself, darling?" Silva murmurs.

His voice sounds muffled, but there's nothing obscuring his mouth. Silva breathes deeply and the sound of skin (not his own) getting sucked in reaches his ears. What is wrong with his mouth? What has he done?

When Bond doesn't answer, Silva's mouth descends again and again. His cock stretches out the other man's cheek far too much and when he presses into that side of his mouth, he feels what he knows from personal experience is the jagged edge of bone. It's just sharp enough to sting, but only adds to the unpleasant pleasure of this whole displeasing experience. The minutes drag on and he continues to choke back sounds of wrongness and otherwise. Silva presses all the way down again, keeping him completely enclosed once more and even more at his captor's mercy.

He can't keep quiet any longer. Maybe if he begs, maybe then...

"God, please. Just make it stop. Please. Let me come and get it over with. iPlease/i."

Silva pulls off a second time.

"Oh, James, all you had to do was ask."

Taking him into his mouth again, Silva doesn't hold a single thing back. His hands play with his shaft and balls while his mouth is busy suckling at the tender head of his aching cock. James writhes and moans pathetically on the bed, hating and loving every moment of delight the man brings him with his open mouth and agile hands. A press to the skin behind his balls has him crying out loudly as he comes and comes in Silva's mouth. He feels his throat convulsing around him as he swallows down everything James gives him. He sucks and sucks at him until tears spring to his eyes in oversensitivity.

Silva finally releases him for good, and James hears something on Silva's end of the bed click into place. The sound of their panting fills the room until eventually Silva stands and moves to stand over him again.

"For someone so bitter, you taste so sweet, my dear," he tells him, bending down low to press an open-mouthed kiss to his bitten lips.

James is too wrung out to even resist.

"One of my men will come in and untie you and give you a change of clothes. You will join me for dinner. We have much to talk about, Mr. Bond."

Silva backs away to walk to the door, and James can't help but notice a large wet spot across the front of his pants. The sick fuck had gotten off to that! The man catches his line of sight.

"Yes, it was good for me too, James. Now be a good boy for Dominic and get dressed when he tells you to. Wouldn't want something bad to happen to that lovely boy in charge of Q Branch, now would we?"

At Bond's murderous look, Silva gives a huff of laughter and blows a kiss over his shoulder before sashaying out the door.

It closes with frightening finality.


End file.
